“I don’t know why sick fucks do whatever they do.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his wide chest. “Someone told Candace that they saw Keith here before Coach died. What if he did that too?”
My neck snaps straight. “Do you think the coach was murdered?”
“No. Maybe. But if he was, it wasn’t by anyone here. Hell, we all liked him. More than that, we loved what he did with the football program.” Theo shakes his head. “Damn shame. He was making Blue Gil a real powerhouse, putting us on the map.”
“Yeah, he was a real knight in shining armor.”
“Listen, I remember the rumors about you and him, but no one proved it. You’re pretty and girls are jealous. People tried to talk about Syd too. Bitches like to talk.”
“You didn’t believe the rumors about me, yet you’re listening to rumors about Keith Gilbert?”
“I know you. No one knows him.”
Exhaling, I scoot out of the booth. “Thanks for the concern, Theo. I’m safe. I promise.”
“Hey, some unsolicited advice, don’t stay out there at Iverson’s. Stay in town with your folks until he’s gone.”
I feign a smile. “I’ll think about that.” I won’t, but I don’t want to share too much dirty laundry in the town’s hotbed for rumors.
Nodding goodbye, I head for the door. The sunlight causes me to squint as I lower my sunglasses over my eyes. It’s as I get close to my car that I hear my name.
“Jillian, can I talk to you?”
I turn back.
“Austin?”
Chapter
Thirty-One
Iwait as Austin comes toward me with long strides. Blue jeans and t-shirts seem to be the wardrobe of choice in this town. The closer he gets, the more I notice his youth—soft features and smooth skin. His blond hair and bright green eyes add to his youthful appearance. I believe he’s eighteen, but with his baby face, the poor kid will be carded until he’s forty. His build, however, is more defined—one of a football player. He has wide shoulders, a trim waist, and he’s tall, probably as tall as Ollie.
“I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me,” he says, stopping a respectable few feet away.
“I remember seeing your pictures on Julie’s social media.”
He takes on the stance Hank had a few days ago, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his blue jeans and staring down at his shoes. Unlike Hank’s boots, Austin Kolldike wears retro tennis shoes—high-top chucks, black with a dirty white sole.
“Will you...” he asks softly, “can you...tell me how she is?”
“Julie?” I question, though there’s little doubt of who he means.
“Yeah, I’ve called her phone about twenty times. I left a few messages, but now her voice mail is full.” He looks up and meets my gaze. “I was in the gym when Sheriff Manes said Julie was hurt. I want you to know, I left the party, but I never wanted anything to happen to her.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“We...for a time...I was mad when we broke up, but I thought we’d kind of worked it out, were able to be friends if you know what I mean.”
I shrug. “Who broke up with whom?”
He turns his head from side to side. “It was me.”
“You broke up with her? Why?”
His head shakes. “None of it matters now. Her interests were changing.”
“Are either of you dating anyone now?” I ask.
